Dinner
by goldencompass
Summary: Some damage is done at a Cohen family dinner.
1. Plastic

Title: Damage Author: Goldencompass Rating: G, I'd say. Summary: A Cohen family dinner. (Fairly short) Feedback: Please! Disclaimer: I don't own any of them.  
  
He's watching. He doesn't realize he's doing it, but while he eats, while they fight, his eyes dart back and forth between them. He chews his steak loudly, hoping to drown them out. What they're fighting about has been long ago forgotten.  
  
He hums to himself in his head: lalalalalala this is no big deal lalalalalalalala stop being an idiot Ryan lalalalalalalala please stop please stop pleasestopstopstopstop...  
  
"Please. Please stop yelling. I - just - please." He whispers.  
  
And all conversation at the table screeches to a halt, as if he'd shouted it from a bullhorn.  
  
He grips his knife and fork tightly, stabbing into the steak in front of him as if it wasn't already dead, hoping to hide the way his hands have started shaking. And the Cohen's certainly don't notice the shaking - they overlook it because they're too focused on the white-knuckle-inducing grip he's got on his cutlery.  
  
"Ryan?" Seth asks quietly.  
  
Ryan doesn't answer. He pretends to examine his meat and expertly grilled vegetables, and has begun counting the peppercorns, while still watching Them through his hair.  
  
"You're right Ryan. We shouldn't be doing this, and certainly not at the dinner table" Sandy gives his wife a pointed look. Ryan's nerves jump, as if he's suddenly been infused with electricity. "Seth, maybe you and Ryan should go out to the pool house. Read some comics or something. That way your mother and I can talk in private." As he says this, Sandy gets up to put his dishes away and pauses to re-connect with his wife, touching her shoulder, calming them both.  
  
Ryan's fork clangs to his plate, twisted and bent, a visible metal wound.  
  
"Oh, oh guys, I -"  
  
"Don't worry about it Ryan, it obviously wasn't the good china, or you wouldn't have been able to do that." Kirsten voice is laughing, but Ryan hears the nervousness in it. He does not recognize that the nervousness is for his well being rather than her own.  
  
"No really, I can fix it. I mean, maybe I can't fix it, but let me clear the table and do the dishes. I'm really sorry; I don't know what my problem is. I'm sure I just made your night worse and you were already angry and god, I don't know what's wrong with me." Ryan was beginning to ramble. It was probably the longest thing he'd ever said since he moved into the pool house. He walked backwards, bringing his own dishes to the sink, returning for Kirsten's, never turning his back on them. He kept talking while he did this, mostly things he'd already said, using the tone of pathetic-attempt-at-distraction that came natural to teenagers.  
  
"Ryan, really, it's ok. Go with Seth, the fork is a speck of nothing in the grand scheme of things. Although I may have to re-think the idea of getting you that set of weights I was going to look into for your birthday." Sandy cracked. Seth coughed suggestively from the doorway.  
  
Ryan stood between the two adults. "I think I should stay." His eyes locked with Sandy's and then slid away to his feet.  
  
A sigh escaped Sandy's lips. "No one's going to get hurt Ryan." He told the boy, lifting Ryan's chin so that he would look him in the eye again. There was a crunching sound.  
  
"Wow, man," Seth said from the doorway, "maybe you should stick to plastic."  
  
Ryan glanced down at his hand where the glass once was. This is a nightmare, what the hell is wrong with me? I've got to snap out of this. He closes his hand tightly into a fist around the shards of glass.  
  
"Hey! Hey! What the hell are you doing? Ryan, god, you're going to hurt yourself!"  
  
Ryan watches as a drop of blood drops to the pristine white kitchen floor. As it hits the tile, the sound of a bomb explodes in Ryan's head.  
  
He stares at Kirsten. "I gotta go." He whispers. "I'm really sorry," and he rushes through the kitchen doors and into the dark. 


	2. On the Mend

Damage Author: Goldencompass Rating: PG Summary: A Cohen family dinner. (Fairly short) Feedback: Please! Disclaimer: I don't own them.  
  
Author's notes: Please forgive any gross formatting. Fanfiction.net converts word documents and makes them look like hell.  
  
Idiotidiotidiotidiot. Fuck. Ryan thought. Way to go back there; way to act like a jerk.  
  
His hand was throbbing of course, and for a few moments the pain distracted him from berating himself. He cradled his arm in front of him, so he wouldn't drip blood on the patio stones.  
  
He tried to take some long deep breaths. He was so not doing this. He was not a kid, and there was no need to act like one. Quietly behind him, Sandy left the kitchen and watched him approach the pool house. When he got inside, he headed for the washroom and the rubbing alcohol contained therein. Bleeding hand over the sink, Ryan grabbed the bottle and twisted the cap off with his teeth. He must have poured half the bottle over his wounds while Sandy watched from the doorway.  
  
Sandy waited a few minutes unsure of when to approach him. Ryan struggled to put a bandage on his cuts, but the attempt to do so was getting the better of him, and Sandy heard a cry of frustration. He jumped out of the path of the garbage can as it went flying out of the bathroom.  
  
"Here, let me help you. But only if you promise not to send any more garbage cans my way."  
  
Ryan looked up and quickly scrubbed at his eyes, blushing. "It's the rubbing alcohol. It stings. Makes your eyes water." He said, with the voice of a man and the posture of a boy.  
  
Sandy said nothing, nodding along at the pretence, and stood before Ryan while slowly applying the band-aids. Ryan sat so still that it was like applying bandages to a rock.  
  
"You in there?" Sandy asked quietly, with a friendly smile. "This is so embarrassing." "Its just band-aids. Anyone would have a problem trying to do this with one hand." "Not the band-aids. What happened. In the house."  
  
As they moved out of the bathroom and sat in Ryan's bedroom, Sandy steeled himself and asked "Do you want to tell me what you were so afraid of in there?" Silence. "Or who?"  
  
Ryan slid a glance at Sandy out of the corner of his eye. "This is so stupid. Besides, if you already know, why do I have to talk about it?"  
  
"You don't have to. But you do have to listen for a minute. Ryan, all people fight. Grown ups, kids, teenagers. You've fought with Seth, with Marissa. And did anything terrible happen? Did anyone get hurt?"  
  
Ryan just looked at him, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.  
  
"Well then, you know that not every argument, even when people are really angry, leads to someone getting hit or beaten up."  
  
Ryan closed his eyes and took a deep breath once the words hit the air, but he nodded, again, almost imperceptibly.  
  
"I would never hurt Kirsten or Seth. Never have never will." Deep breath. "And I wouldn't hurt you either Ryan. I'm not the perfect husband or parent, I am more than aware of that, but I am not like the other men you've known ok?"  
  
Eye contact was just about the only response he could give. He didn't trust himself to speak at the moment, and his body seemed frozen. Sandy got up and made his way towards the door.  
  
"Now, there's no way you're staying out here alone. Seth's got this anime thing he wants us to watch, and if I have to watch it you do too. Let's go."  
  
He patted Ryan's shoulder, glanced down at his bandaged hand briefly and the met his eyes. "You'll heal up just fine."  
  
"I hope so." Ryan said quietly.  
  
Fin. 


End file.
